Five Things That Aged Art Mullen Before His Time
by vanillafluffy
Summary: "Blaze of Glory" did a terrific job of showcasing the character of Art Mullen, but the actor really isn't that old. Time for some backstory to explain how Art has gotten a little banged-up along the way.


**Five Things That Have Made Art Mullen Old Before His Time**

1984

Faylene charges into the emergency room—for a moment, Art thinks she's going to assault the rent-a-cop who tryies to stop her. "Over here," he calls, and she looks over to where he's slumped, his left arm in a sling, souvenir of battling a coked-up suspect.

"Oh my God, Art—what have you done to yourself?"

"It's just my collar-bone," he reassures her. She worries about the dangers of his job as a US Marshal, and now, eight months pregnant with their first child, she shouldn't be worrying. Art tries to downplay the injury. "I'll be in this thing for a few weeks, but it's no big deal." She'll see his other bruises soon enough.

Art's still on the sunny side of thirty; the sling is gone in time for him to hold Art Junior. His range of movement isn't affected, but he notices as the years pass that the old break aches when the weather changes.

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1995

They already know the right-wing a-hole has a cabin full of weapons and diesel fuel, what no one expects is for him to walk out the door with a grenade in his hand, laughing.

"Crap," says Tommy Muldoon. They're wearing bullet-proof vests, but there's no such thing as grenade-proof.

"You don't want to do that," Art says to the a-hole. Who's going to coach Artie's Little League team if he gets blown to Kingdom Come? Or put that fancy dollhouse together for Melissa and Amanda?

"You fascist scum think you can lock me up? The hell you will!" And God help them, the a-hole pulls the pin and chucks the grenade through the open cabin door.

Art grabs Tommy, and they get about five strides away when the force of the explosion slams him down, showering burning debris everywhere and the world goes curiously silent.

An ER doc picks gravel out of his knees like it was bird-shot.

Back home, Faylene, whose lips move soundlessly, bustles around him. Scolding, he'd bet.

It takes a lot longer than he expected to finish the twins' dollhouse, because he has to keep stopping to ice his knees.

His hearing comes back in time for him to register "Taps" played at Tommy Muldoon's funeral.

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2004

A lot of people hate their jobs; Art Mullen isn't one of them. Teaching firearms at Glencoe is satisfying; the way Art looks at it, he's upping the survival skills of a lot of his fellow marshals.

He hates to admit being out of harm's way is a factor, but it's set Faylene's mind at ease about his safety. With two college-bound teenagers at home and one in his second year—damn, time flies!—his kids need their dad.

It's hard to believe they're coming up on their 25th anniversary—or that he's got his 20 with the Marshal Service. Hell, he's been here at Glencoe for almost eight years; the recruits look younger and younger with every class. It won't be long til they're the same age as his kids.

As much as he enjoys what he does, there are days when all the bang-bang-banging makes Art's head throb and his ears ring, despite the best hearing protection tax-payer dollars can provide.

He still remembers that isolated, silent week after the takedown-gone-wrong of that militia scum. He'd just as soon not repeat it if he can help it. When a posting goes up for head of the Lexington field office, Art puts in for it. After all, as he assures Faylene, when he's the boss, he'll have other marshals under him to go out and do the dangerous stuff.

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2009

Faylene has talked him into going out to some fancy restaurant for his big birthday dinner. Art would just as soon turn 50 in the privacy of his own home, but he's too tired to argue with her. The office threw a party for him this afternoon in the break room, including a Tombstone cake with a sketch of cowboy boots. Whether it's a "Boot Hill" reference, or they expecte him to die with them on, he doesn't know.

The joke gifts are what you'd figure: denture cleaner, multi-vitamins for senior citizens, Grecian Formula-which last Art doesn't find funny. He doesn't mind so much that his hair has gone white-if only there was more of it. He knows he takes after his mama's daddy, Grandpa Healy, who had the same long forehead Art sports. Genetics are a bitch.

"What do you think?" he asks his wife as he's buttoning his dress shirt. "Think I should shave my head like that guy on 'The Shield'?"

"Who?" His wife doesn't share his enthusiasm for the show. She grasps the ends of his tie and pulls him close for a kiss. "Telly Savalas?"

Art chuckles. One of the good things about growing old is having a good woman to grow old with, somebody who remembers trivial shit from thirty years ago. He gives her his best soulful look and growls, "Who loves ya, baby?"

They end up staying home after all. Art isn't as tired as he thought he was.

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2011

The office bottle is a standing joke, but what isn't such common knowledge is the bottom drawer of Art's office credenza, which boasts liquid and chewable antacids, pills for acid reflux, aspirin and non-aspirin headache relief, It sees a lot more action than the bourbon does.

He does his damnedest not to take his work problems home. Some of it he can tell Faylene about—the USADA's witch-hunt, all those compromised cases, Arlo's "missing" money, things that add stress and paperwork to his job. (She doesn't need to know about the shootout with Crowder's Commandos in Harlan, the stand-off right here in this very office, or him chasing down that crazy old bank robber.)...

Although when you come right down to it, nothing is aging him faster than riding herd on Raylan Givens.


End file.
